


Hollow (Deep as the Sea Goes)

by misslizanne



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslizanne/pseuds/misslizanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angst, angst and more angst…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow (Deep as the Sea Goes)

Killian lays in his room at Granny’s in a clouded haze of her voice and her smile and her lips, lips he’ll never ever touch again because of this godforsaken curse. He can’t strip her of her powers, of what makes her special. He can think of countless other reasons as to why she is, though: her kindness, her generosity, her heart, her endless strength, and the thought makes his heart clench even more because that’s exactly why he loves her.

He thinks of her laughter, witnessed through the neon reflection of the diner windows, the way she effortlessly interacted with her family, hugged her son close to her, smiled proudly at her parents and he can’t take that from her, can’t allow her to lose what she longed for as an orphan for so long.

He rolls over, tries to fall asleep again, but his mind is too consumed with his own torment. He can’t let her lose everything, but he can’t kiss her, he  _won’t_.

* * *

It still burns in Emma’s thoughts, how he so easily walked away from her (like she’d done so many times before, and if this is how he felt afterwards, then she has a whole new perspective on just how deep his feelings for her run). She wants him to be a part of her life, her future, her home. She wants Henry to turn to him for advice, for her parents to accept him as an equal, for him to cherish her and admire her and  _love her_.

How could he walk away when she let her walls down in front of him, when she finally let him in? She wants to believe he’s just like the others, wants to add him to the same category as Neal or Walsh, but she can’t. She knows him too well, knows he’s just like her (and if her memory serves her right, every time she walked away, it was because she wanted to hide what her heart and mind were truly saying, that she felt something stronger than she could handle).

She vows to find him first thing in the morning.

* * *

He doesn’t sleep, and if the dark circles under his eyes don’t speak volumes, the slouch of his shoulders certainly do. He sits in the diner, swirling his hook mindlessly in his coffee when the bells on the door jingle, and it’s  _her_ , and she’s standing there in all her golden glory, staring at him like she knows exactly why he looks like complete hell.

She nods towards Ruby, who sets on making her hot cocoa, and invites herself into his booth, sitting down with a huff, hands folded neatly in front of her on the table.

“Tired?” she asks, reading the pain in his eyes as he studies her, really takes her in because it constantly feels like he’ll lose her again (and everything he touches vanishes because he’s the worst human alive and an awful monster and doesn’t deserve anyone).

“Aye,” he manages to croak out, takes a sip of his coffee before his eyes wander around the establishment.

Ruby sets the hot cocoa down, and Emma nods in thanks, takes a slow sip, then focuses back on Killian.

Her face softens, hand reaching out to grab his. “What’s going on?”

He startles, pulls his hand abruptly out of her grasp. “Nothing you’d understand, Swan.”

“Talk to me,” she pleads, her worried gaze boring into him.

“No, Swan.” He gets up to leave, places a few gold coins of random value on the table and walks out, slamming the diner door upon departure.

She shakes her head, hitting the table hard because he won’t talk, he won’t open up, and she realizes just how hard he’s worked to get her to do the same, to get her to  _let him in_  (and it’s like a volcano of feelings erupts in her, flowing in broken sobs back at the empty loft because he never gave up, even when she was this stubborn and even when she pushed him out every change she got,  _he never gave up_ ).

* * *

He walks to the docks, looks out into the cluttered bay at the ships (his eyes drift to the one he and Henry borrowed, remembering the coy smile on the lad’s lips when he inferred they stole it, the frantic thumbs that pressed on his device, which he called a smartphone, bragging to his friends he was committing a felony with a pirate).

It’s not just Emma his heart longs for, it’s Henry as well. They signify a second chance, but he never feels worthy enough of their affections, for everything he wishes they’d offer him. Part of him knows they’ve already welcomed him in, considering Emma’s trust in him to watch her boy, Henry’s endless questions about the sea and his life and his tricks, Emma’s yearning looks when he denies her requests to open up and Dave’s friendly disposition towards him.

He loves both Emma  _and_ Henry, loves her whole blasted family if he’s being honest. He soon wonders if his lips aren’t the curse, but rather his own  _heart_.

* * *

She knows exactly where he went, knows he’s sitting at the docks, but part of her doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to open herself up to him just to get shot down. She wonders if he felt the same way through Neverland, when he was always pushing her, poking through her walls with his steely hook only to get stumbled on and beaten with the weight of her rejection. She can’t imagine how he’s put up with her for so long, how he believed in his love so strongly that he stuck around just to watch her dismiss him time and time again.

Thoughts of his sapphire gaze and his hand roaming through her blonde curls, the warm press of his lips against hers and the sweat of his brow sliding across her skin, the feel of his hook pressed against her thigh as he pulled her closer all flash through her mind. It’s the last thing she thinks of before she drifts off to sleep.

* * *

He’s done his best to avoid her, or rather avoid being seen by her (or Henry, or David, or Snow, or Regina, because it’s no longer about protecting her, but about protecting all of them, because he can’t afford to see them hurt, especially as a result of his rotten heart and selfish love for the savior).

It’s while he’s standing behind the corner of a building, peering through his spyglass, intently observing David and Henry as they walk towards the library (and they are safe once inside, and there are no monkeys and Zelena is no where to be found and they are  _safe_ ) that he senses her behind him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emma demands, and he swivels quickly to see her, fists clenched.

He storms off towards the docks. “Nothing, Swan. It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s  _something_.” She lunges forward, grabs at his bicep, but he wriggles out, marches off hastily. “Would you just talk to me?”

“Leave me alone, Swan,” he bellows over his shoulder, walking with more conviction than before.

She shakes her head, huffs loudly, but the booming clip-clop of her boots along the pavement proves she’s not relenting. “I will not,” she shouts back at him. “Goddamnit Killian,  _let me in_!”

He freezes, his own wishes spoken from her lips. He turns his head slowly, sees the mirrored pain on her face, the confusion in her stare, and he wants nothing more than to hold her, to confess to her, but he  _can’t_.

And so he continues towards the docks, ignoring her exasperated sigh.

* * *

She wants to follow him, wants to know what he’s hiding. She said she didn’t care, but this is something else entirely, something  _new_  because forty-eight hours ago, everything was fine and flirty and happy and he wanted to watch Henry and now he’s stalking all of them from afar with a freaking telescope.

She walks to the library, knows family is what she needs (which Killian’s a part of already, doesn’t he know that?) and finds her son and her father in the rows of nautical books, spread out at a table with ocean maps and whatnot.

“What are you two boys up to?” Emma ponders, leaning against a bookshelf.

Henry smiles up at her, David patting him joyfully on the back. “Just wanted to brush up on some stuff about the sea, you know, so Killian and I will have things to talk about.”

The grin that escapes her lips is hard to hide. “You trying to impress Killian, kid?”

“Yeah, mom. He’s a pretty cool guy.” Her son gladly returns to his research, reading up about sails and ships and all things sea-like.

It’s then that she breaks. She won’t let Killian just push her away, especially when her son’s heart is at stake.

* * *

He wanders back to his room at Granny’s after nightfall, sits on the bed slightly defeated. The painful expression on her face haunts his mind, and he reaches for his flask, carefully undoes the cork with his teeth and takes a mouthful of the burning liquid, sighing as it travels smoothly down his throat before tossing it across the room in a fury, watching as the carpet soaks with alcohol.

The frustration remains, however, especially when he knows what’s at stake: Emma’s powers or her family’s well-being. He lies down on the bed, a loud humph of leather hitting the comforter when he hears the door handle jiggle, followed by a sound that resembles breaking and entering. Before he can even reach for his sword, Emma is standing in front of him, rage and agony and heartbreak written all over her face.

“Love, what are you doing here?” he asks, lying back down on the bed as if he’s been overcome before the question could be fully understood.

“We’re talking,” she states, gesturing at him like he’s being scolded. “Sit up, Killian.”

He closes his eyes, tries to ignore her but it only makes Emma angrier.

“I said  _sit up_.” Her voice is demanding, her eyes slightly misty and the skin under them raw and red (which he knows is a result of the wall he’s placed firmly in between them).

He does her one better and stands to face her, his lips curling up into a smirk before falling into a miserable frown. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why you keep pushing me away!” She shouts, fists pounding at his chest. “I thought you were different, that I could count on you! I thought we were a team!” She stops for a moment, looks at her feet, sways nervously. “I thought you loved me.”

The way she mumbles it, soft and broken ( _like a lost girl_ , he thinks) makes his heart fracture even further because he caused this. He places his hand on her shoulder, lets his fingers travel up her neck to cup her cheek.

“I do love you, Emma,” he whispers, but the words sound stale and cracked on his lips (his cursed, defiled, _filthy pirate_  lips).

She shakes her head, bites her bottom lip, fights the tears that fall anyway. “Then why are you doing this to me?”

He releases his hand from her cheek, clenches it at his side. “Because I can’t cause you any more pain.”

“How would you cause me pain?” she scoffs as if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.

He turns away, unable to face her because she’s the savior and he’s unworthy and his dreadful heart got them into this mess. “I’m a horrible human being, love,” he utters, the shattered remnants of his heart falling to pieces because he’s sending her away, her heart and her love and her guidance.

“No, you are  _not_ ,” she proclaims, closing the gap of space between them. She wraps her arms around his waist, fights off the tug of his body struggling to move away from her. She continues to hold on tightly, anchoring him like he’s always done for her.

“You must have me confused with someone else,” he states, sighing when she rests her head between his shoulder blades.

“I need you,” she murmurs into the leather of his coat. “Henry,  _Henry_  needs you.”

He shakes his head. “You’d both be better off without me.”

She turns him around, makes her face him. “No, we wouldn’t.” She chuckles a little, remembering her son rambling on about tying knots and building fires and playing dice (and searching for maps and learning about the sea, all to impress the man in front of her). “I’ve got a son who admires someone he only just met. He was in the library all day today, looking for things so he would have more to talk to you about.”

Killian smiles marginally before the hardened lines from before resurface again. “Regardless, you and your boy, your  _family_ , they’re not safe here.”

“When are they ever?” she jokes, but his expression doesn’t falter.

She’s lost in his seriousness, and when she leans forward, tries to brush her lips across his in a soothing act of kindness, he pushes her away, marches towards the desk and sits down at it.

“What the  _hell_ , Killian?”

His head falls into his hand. “I can’t.”

“What are you not telling me?” she demands, but when he doesn’t answer she stomps her foot. “What are you _not_  telling me?”

He sighs, long and exasperated. “Zelena cursed me,” he mumbles, and he wonders if he’s been heard.

She walks towards him, crouches down next to him, hand stroking his hair, fingers running against his scalp. “I don’t understand.”

He turns to look at her, her face so close (her lips  _too_ close). “She cursed my lips, when I swore on the name of the woman I  _love…_  when I swore on  _you_.”

Her brow furrows, mouth slightly agape. “You  _love_  me?”

“That’s what you take from that?” he barks, frustrated. “She cursed my lips so that if I ever kiss you again, all of your magic, all of your abilities as the savior will be gone.”

Her hand is still entwined in his hair, other hand reaching out to hold his good one in hers. “So, then we just don’t kiss.”

“It’s not that simple, Swan.” He averts his eyes, attempts to find the words. “If I don’t… If I don’t, she threatened to kill your family, your parents, Henry—”

“You,” she interrupts and he’s pulled back to her, like a siren calling a sailor out to sea.

“Aye, I suppose.”

She leans in, cups her hand against his cheek. “Well, then there’s only one option here.” Her lips dance treacherously close to his.

“Swan, no!” he protests, but he can’t tear himself away from her spell.

“I can lose my magic,” she explains, tugging him closer to her. “But I can’t lose my family, my son. I… I can’t lose  _you_.”

“Swan, please,  _no_. I won’t let you do this.” He looks so hopeless, so unlike the strong, stubborn pirate she’s come to know so well.

She leans her head back enough to look at him, to see the torture this has caused him. She shushes him, placing two fingers to his lips, wondering when they switched roles and she became him.

“Then, we’ll figure something out.” She pulls him down into her embrace. “We’re a team, Killian. We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and he clutches her tighter, lets her melt into his embrace, inhales the sweet scent that is her (because he can’t lose this, he  _can’t_ go back to that pirate).

“I know.” She nuzzles into the crook between his neck and shoulder blade, and just holds him tighter. “I know.”


End file.
